


Ready Position. Attack. Six Pack. (No Not Just Lexa's Abs.)

by luckeyygirl



Series: Pancakes & Perks [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckeyygirl/pseuds/luckeyygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time practice is over Clarke is more than sure she’s going to die. Or has already died and is trapped in the sixth circle of hell. She can’t imagine ever doing this voluntarily and doesn’t understand why anyone would. She can’t wait to get home and curl up in bed with her laptop and turn herself into the vegetable she knows she’s always been meant to be. </p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Clarke is based heavily off of Eliza Taylor and her disdain for any form of exercise but she's forced to take up a sport or she'll fail to graduate high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready Position. Attack. Six Pack. (No Not Just Lexa's Abs.)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this little one-shot was inspired by a gifset going around on tumblr. My friend sent it to me and my brain just started ficing this hilarity.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Giftset can be found here: http://offtopolis.tumblr.com/post/142403175551

There are three things that Clarke Griffin hates. The first is having to be dressed. She doesn’t constantly walk around naked, but anything that requires more than pajamas is a problem as far as she’s concerned. The second is being hot. Not in the aesthetic sense, cause the girl knows she’s attractive and how to work that to her advantage. But she hates being hot as far as temperature goes. Sure she loves the summer, loves spending time on the beach lounging around and being lazy. But that love is tempered by her disdain for being hot herself. Yes, she knows she’s basically a walking contradiction, sue her. The last she hates more than the others though. Activity. Exercise. Working out. Any way you spin it, it is something Clarke loathes with an unrivaled passion. So you can imagine that her being a member of the high school volleyball team is not something Clarke Griffin would ever have an interest in, yet here we are.

“Stupid, useless physical education credits. I thought education was about making you smarter, increasing your knowledge. Why I am being forced to participate in something I despise when it isn’t going to make me any more intelligent? If anything I might actually kill brain cells with the effort I’ll be forced to put into this. I am not an athlete; the only marathons I’m interested in are of the movie variety. This is a horrible idea,” Clarke grumbles. “Ah Miss Griffin, how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence today,” the coach starts. “Ladies, this is Clarke, our newest team member; Clarke this is your team, your captain is Octavia Blake, if you have any questions direct them to her.” With a nod Clarke looks over at her new captain and is met with a cold stare underlined with eye black and Clarke scoffs. “War paint? Are you shitting me? These girls are insane. It’s only practice.” “You got a problem over there Griffin? Something to say?” Octavia Warrior Princess asks. “Nope. I’m great, so excited to be here. Can’t wait for our first game,” Clarke monotones.

By the time practice is over Clarke is more than sure she’s going to die. Or has already died and is trapped in the sixth circle of hell. She can’t imagine ever doing this voluntarily and doesn’t understand why anyone would. She can’t wait to get home and curl up in bed with her laptop and turn herself into the vegetable she knows she’s always been meant to be. Her plans, of course, never come to fruition because as soon as she walks through the door her mother is flinging questions at her left and right. “How was school?” “How was your first practice?” “Are the girls nice?” “Is the coach treating you right?” “Are you having fun?” Clarke just looks at her mother and says, “If I’m going to do this I’m going to exercise my right to hate every minute of it. So as soon as I’m out of that gym, I am pretending that volleyball isn’t even a sport. Because it’s not. It’s an evil game born from the depths of a hell dimension bent on making sure I don’t live past 17.” “Don’t you think that’s a touch dramatic honey? Pity you didn’t need an arts credit to graduate, with your theatrics you’d have been a shoe-in for the theatre department,” Abby returns. Clarke just grunts and drops her head onto the counter she’s taken a seat at. “Oh sweetheart, it’ll be okay. Just give it some time. Maybe you’ll even learn to like it. You never know.” Raising her head Clarke meets her mother’s earnest gaze with her own widened one, “We dare not speak of such things mother. Blasphemy has no place in this household. I hurt in places I did not know existed before today. So I am going up to my room to wallow in my pain and misery, and binge the third season of Orange is the New Black on Netflix.”

Groaning as she gets up from her seat at the counter, she moves to walk away from Abby and the kitchen when she is stopped by her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “I made sure to stop at the store on the way home from the hospital today and get some Epsom salt as well as a heating pad. They are both in your bathroom waiting for you. Your body must think it’s dying right now,” Abby informs her daughter. “Thanks mom. Both for the thoughtfulness as well as the insult. I knew I could count on you.” With a thumbs up Clarke trudges up the stairs, wondering not for the first time that week why her bedroom and bathroom can’t be on the main floor of the house.

Their first game is a week away and for some reason the coach seems to think this is a nationally ranked collegiate sports program or something, because she has the team pulling two-a-days all week. Clarke has done more exercising in the past few days than she ever planned on doing in her entire life, and her muscles are suffering for it. She’s planning on buying stock in Tiger Balm and Epsom salt, with the amount of money she’s spent on the stuff she should be able to profit from it somehow. She finds out today that there is going to be an exhibition game before the start of the season. She finds she doesn’t really care, but listens to her captain as she explains how the game works and who they’re playing. “Polis Academy has won the championship every single year since I’ve been at this school and this year is going to be different. I refuse to let Woods and her ragtag group of misfits take another title away from me, from us. So ladies, we will be working twice as hard and twice as long to be ready for them this season,” Octavia encourages. “Even if I did get saddled with an athletic reject myself,” she continues under her breath. Clarke is too exhausted to even care that this Xena wannabe is talking about her; she just wants to go home and collapse into her bed. “You know the drill team, back here tomorrow at 0600 hours for morning practice. The exhibition game against Polis will be at 0645 so practice will be light. See you all then,” the drill sergeant dismisses.

Clarke doesn’t even make it to her bed that night. She passes out still fully clothed and covered in sweat and dirt on the couch. When she wakes up she realizes she has a little over an hour to get ready and make it to school before she’s late and she refuses to have to run laps and then practice and then attempt to play in a game. Running, and hating it, the last few blocks to the gym she crosses the threshold just as Coach Johnson blows the whistle signaling that practice is starting. They run through their stretches and their warmups, and then pair off to set and volley for a while. Naturally she’s paired up with the captain, because the strongest is paired with the weakest to try to balance them out. Octavia’s face is done up in more of her war paint today, only this time instead of it being just under her eyes, she’s completely covered them with it. “Insanity. She looks like an evil raccoon,” Clarke thinks.

She’s torn from her thoughts when the doors of the gym open and a crowd of girls walks in. They are led by a tall brunette with curly hair, carrying a mesh bag of volleyballs on her back as she walks backwards while talking to her team. Her voice, while not loud at all, carries through the mostly open gym and Clarke is already intrigued. Then she notices the lean legs barely covered by uniform shorts that are filled out quite wonderfully by the girl’s ass she can’t help but note, and Clarke is enamored. The girl turns around and they make eye contact and Clarke has to pinch herself to make sure that she isn’t still on the couch dreaming, because this girl is absolutely stunning. And she’s looking at Clarke with a smile on her face that could light up the night sky. “Finally,” Clarke thinks, “a bright side to this ridiculous situation I’m in.”

It almost all goes to shit when the girl comes onto the court at the beginning of the match and turns to face Clarke. The blonde sees that she’s wearing face paint similar to Octavia’s, only hers is drawn down her cheeks in what appear to be trails of tears. She’s ready to write this girl off as another fanatic just like her captain, until the match actually starts and she watches her work. Muscles tense and release with each movement and Clarke is almost certain that she’s drooling. She watches enraptured as this girl goes to work decimating her teammates. Clarke can’t even be brought to care about that, or about Octavia likely losing her mind and driving them all into the ground at the next practice. All Clarke cares about is that she just found a reason to not hate volleyball quite as much as she did before that girl walked into the gym.

Clarke thought she was going to make it through this first match while remaining on the sidelines and cheering on her teammates and simultaneously side-eyeing the captain of the other team. “Bless the inventor of short shorts and tank tops really because I have achieved nirvana,” she is thinking when her name is being yelled from the other end of the bench. “GRIFFIN! Wake up, you’re in. Let’s go. Do try not to break anything-the equipment, yourself or your teammates please,” Coach Johnson all but begs. “Jesus that was one time and it was only the freshman team’s captain. She’s fine.” “She was taken to the hospital Griffin. Just pay attention.”

They volley back and forth a few times, Clarke’s team somehow managing to score more than once. Not that it really matters with the other team leading them with the margin they have. Clarke even manages to make a few decent saves herself, which Octavia begrudgingly congratulates her on at the next huddle. The blonde sees an opportunity for another save coming up and goes for the dig, only to run into a player from the other team and miss the ball completely. They slide and tangle together, Clarke ending up on top of the other girl with her hands resting in the very last place they should be resting. “I am so sorry. Oh god, so sorry about…uh….yeah….I’m just going to move my hands now.” The blonde lifts her hands off the other girl’s chest and looks up to bring them face to face and is lost in green eyes surrounded in black that make them luminescent in the lighting of the gym. “Fuck,” Clarke groans to herself, “of course I’d land on top of the girl I’ve been staring at all match.” They separate, sharing uncomfortable smiles and go back to their respective teams; Captain Overkill is glaring at her when she gets back to their side but Clarke ignores her to turn her attention to tall, dark and fucking fine who she can now admire once again from up close.

Of course her inattention bites her in the ass. She’s too busy admiring the strength and prowess on display from the brunette to prepare her hands in time. She takes the spiked ball front and center….of her face. Dazed and on her ass quicker than she can even say “ouch” Clarke realizes that the girl in front of her isn’t one of her teammates. No, it’s the captain of the other team. Commander she thinks they called her. “You can command me anytime,” she thinks. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. Are you alright?” the girl asks. Clarke can’t help but laugh, because of course this would happen to her. The girl is looking at her like she’s lost her mind and to be fair maybe she has because she’s sitting on the floor of the gym, with blood dripping down her face and she’s laughing in front of the reason she’s in that position. She decides she’s come this far, she might as well go all in. “Hey, I’m Clarke. If you wanted to get my attention you could have just said ‘Hi.’ You didn’t have to come at my face with a volleyball.”

Commander War Paint laughs and Clarke feels her hope start to lift from its position on the ground next to her. “Hi Clarke. I’m Lexa. I’m very sorry about your face having met my spike. Can I take you out for a coffee to make it up to you?” Clarke is still laughing, and bleeding, through her nodding response. “I can’t wait for next week’s game,” is the last thought she has before Lexa helps her up and over to her bench.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and a review. Let me know what you think :)


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